


Rey- Echoy'la dehi'r (=the lost Duchess)

by elenapadmeamidala



Category: Star Wars: Clone Wars (2003) - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Rey Kenobi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-22
Updated: 2020-05-22
Packaged: 2021-03-03 05:08:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,599
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24319345
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elenapadmeamidala/pseuds/elenapadmeamidala
Summary: Rey is waiting for her family to return to her to get her to a better life.Follow her as she embarks on an adventure that might lead her back to her family? Or will it? We shall find out.
Relationships: Finn & Rey (Star Wars)
Kudos: 5





	Rey- Echoy'la dehi'r (=the lost Duchess)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Rey Kenobis](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Rey+Kenobis).



> This fanfic developed out of frustration about how inconsistent the Sequel Trilogy was handled. And shoehorning her into being a Palpatine didn't sit well with me at all.
> 
> So, now I'm writing a Fanfic that makes a bit more sense all things considered. And yes this is a Rey Kenobi story.

It was almost sundown when Rey returned from Nima outpost. Her clothes chafe from sweat and dirt stuck to her skin, sweat dripping into one of her eyes, sand was sticking to the corners of her eyes. Rey was slowly dragging her fatigued footsteps through the sweltering hot sand. Half a quarter portion, she had received for today’s work. She cursed, gritting her teeth. Unkar Plutt, the chakaar (=Scumbag) was screwing her over, he was screwing everybody over, but unfortunately, he was too powerful and any of his competitor was more than two and a half days fly away. Her fuel would run out before she could reach the other territory. She shook her head. No, scratch that. She would run out of water first, dehydration making her sluggish until she would pass out, heat and dizziness from sunstroke would add to her slow and painful death. No, as much as she hated slaving for Unkar Plutt, any chance of escape was fruitless. Unloading, she gathered her belongings, sighing as she climbed through the makeshift entrance that led into the belly of the half-destroyed AT-AT walker of her AT-AT. It might be an ancient, rotting, rusting example of now useless military might, but to Rey, it was home. At least as much of a home as it could be.

Quaint and functional, it may be, but it would save her during the blistering cold at night that was cooling the sizzling hot sand. Until midnight she would leave the hatch open to let the cool air from outside in. After all, her heated up AT-AT was a heat trap during the day that had to cool down before she could get any semblance of sleep in its sanctuary.

After carefully unloading her gear and goods onto the home-produced cupboards and shelves, she remembered to make a scratch mark on one interior wall of semi-malleable material. She had long since stopped bothering to count the scratches, which now numbered in the thousands. Why hadn’t they returned for her? Rey barely remembered her family. The memory of their faces hazy. She had no idea if she would even recognize them when they came back. But perhaps it would trigger her fading memory of them. Her gaze fell upon her handmade doll fashioned from a reclaimed orange flight suit material. There was something familiar about this. But then, for just a split second another image flickered through her mind. The image of a similar flight suit, in different colours even the helmet was vastly different. She shook her head. No, not right now. She had more than enough time to think about it later.

Green slab-stuff sizzled in a makeshift cook pan. Everything she owned; she had made herself. Even this pan. Unlike the other ones, this was had not yet fallen apart. But it was only a matter of time. Opening the packet of beige powder, she dumped it into a tin half full of water. A brief stir with her index finger activated the mixture, which promptly expanded and solidified into a loaf of something like bread. She slid the cooked meat off its pan and onto a plate, then slipped the loaf out of its container and went outside to eat calmly watching the sundown. It was a bland meal. She was munching it slowly as if trying to willing it to increase. It had been a very long time that she had tested anything else. Rey couldn’t remember really, but sometimes she craved an intensely spicy stew created through a hearty blend of meat and various vegetables, that she knew weren’t available on Jakku. In addition to a potent mix of spices, the mere scent of that spicy was said to be _nadala luubid at hettir solus b kles gemas_ (=hot enough to burn an individual's nose hairs). She frowned. Sometimes junks of this language slipped into her thoughts. Had she spoken this language with her parents? She didn’t know. Couldn’t remember. But she could have sworn that she could remember the spacy taste that only increased with any bite she took. A memory of a woman was wafting through her memories. Telling somebody that she was too young to eat something so spicy. But an elder woman with strict voice countered her that Tiingilar. Did she remember this correct? Rey couldn’t tell sometimes if it were memories or remnants of dreams she had. that the Tiingilar, the flavourful dish's potency was to be a reflection of their people's reputation for strength, as well as their love of a challenge, though she also remarked that even the hardiest of their population was liable to sweat themselves out of their armour after eating the spicy concoction. What she would give to taste this Tiingilar thingy. To test if it was her memory and not some dream that her mind had concocted. Would her parents be able to communicate with her when they came back? She wondered.

“Ibic Rey (=This is Rey).” She murmured gritting her teeth. No last name. She did not know her last name, or if she even had one. Taking a glance at the helmet next to her, she contemplated if her name even was Rey. Had she perhaps taken it from the helmet and made it her own? She didn’t know. Ræh's was written on the flight helmet, she had recovered years ago when she had been a girl. Ræh had become an important figure in Rey's life, with her dreaming up stories about what Ræh was like and where she might have come from. Together, Rey and Ræh, the little doll, that was now sitting on her shelf had gone on adventures by exploring Rey's home, the downed AT-AT, as well as the sands outside. She had grown eventually out of playing with the doll, but she had kept the memory of Ræh alive by keeping the doll and her helmet in her possession throughout her years on this forsaken planet.

“Gedet'ye, Me'vaar ti gar. (=Please respond)” she murmured trying to remember the language again as her gaze was following the streaks of light that indicated star ships leaving the planet. Her parents would not be able to hear her. She knew, but the helmet felt comforting on her head. The weight familiar, like a long-lost memory. A helmet. What was the word for it? Was it buy'ce _?_ She was not convinced, but it somehow rang true. Rey couldn’t lose her language. It became harder every day to remember the words. She had to remain prepared for the day her parents would finally return to her. To take her away to a better life. 

* * *

Unknowns to her, she was desperately missed by the remnants of her family, who had sworn to not leave any stone unturned in order to locate her and all the other children who had been taken away from them by the traitorous clan who had sided with the Empire during it’s reign and now appeared to continue their disloyal ways in siding with the First Order. Their people had lost so much of their former glory, yet they always survived. He wanted peace. Peace like his mother had strived for during the Clone Wars. Of course, at that time, he had still believed her to be his aunt. But he understood her reasons now for her deception. But he had also seen how fragile peace could be and that his aunt Bo-Katan’s world view had merit as well. They needed to keep their children fighting fit in order to regain their former strength. The Empire had nearly wiped them out, but luckily enough members of the clans had survived, to regrow their numbers. Adding orphans trained in their creed to the gene pool also helped. His gaze was wafting over the young fighter corps, seeing the younglings from the different clans train together. His precious little daughter had fought among them, until the attack years ago. He dreaded what she had to go through right now. What they were turning her into. Or if she even was alive. They had several clashes with the FO already and each time, he had gone back to the scenes of battle to inspect the faces of the fallen Stormtroopers. Some of them had been extremely young. Each time his heart had clenched at seeing their faces and yet he had been elated that her familiar face had never been among the fallen. It gave him hope that she was still out there somewhere. Alive. Clan Rook had not been so lucky. One of the fallen dark-skinned storm troopers had been identified as one set of twin brothers that had been taken. Their surveillance had indicated that he had hesitated shooting at the Mandalorian warriors, which had gotten him killed. How many of their abducted children would die in friendly fire because of this? He wished he could stop the FO from raiding planets and indoctrinate the children into serving in their twisted…

“You are thinking about her again.” his wife’s voice came from behind, startling him out of his musings.

“How can I not? Our eldest was taken from us and we have no idea where she is, what she has to go through or if she is still alive at all.”

She slung her arms around his hips from behind and clasped them. Her chin on his shoulders she sighed. “We know how resilient she is. It’s a family trait, from both sides, that they won’t get rid of that easily. We will find her.”

“But will she recognize us?” he rasped.

**Author's Note:**

> You are welcome to leave comments.


End file.
